by Alice Oseman
Suddenly, Rowan yanks up the blind that shields my seat from the rest of the cabin. He looks furious, but then his expression drops into something softer, and he says, ‘Jesus. You all right?’
I release my necklace and wipe my hand on my joggers.
‘Planes,’ I say.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Rowan opens the compartment door and sits down on the table next to my seat. ‘You know you’re more likely to—’
‘To die in a car crash, to get struck by lightning or to get eaten by a shark than to die in a plane crash. I know.’
‘Oh.’
There’s a pause. My breathing has calmed down.
‘Anyway,’ I say. ‘What’s up?’
He sighs, then glances around the cabin. There are a few people staring at us, which isn’t unusual. I’ve already caught two people taking photos of us when they thought we weren’t looking. Not that I confronted them about it.
Rowan shuffles further inside my compartment, shuts the door, then pulls up the blind so no one can see or hear us. He drops his iPad into my lap and touches his fingertips to his lips.
I look at it, confused. ‘Did you get stuck on Candy Crush again?’
He gestures at the iPad and doesn’t say anything. The expression on his face suggests that this is not a Candy Crush-related issue.
I pick up the iPad and look at it.
On screen is a picture of me and Rowan sleeping in my bed in our London apartment.
I laugh. It’s kind of funny. We look like we’re a couple, or something. Lister must have taken it as a joke.
I look up at Rowan, expecting him to be laughing too. But he isn’t. His eyes are wide. His hand is gripping the back of my seat.
‘I don’t understand,’ I say.
‘Haven’t you checked Twitter today?’ he says, shaking his head almost manically.
‘No?’
Rowan snatches the iPad back and swipes the screen. The image minimises and the screen returns to Rowan’s Twitter notifications, which seem to be full of people tweeting him the photo. He starts to scroll through them, holding the iPad in front of my face. Everyone is tweeting him about the photo, and the link to where it came from.
I sit upright in my chair, take the iPad from Rowan and click on the nearest link.
It takes me to a big but gossipy news site, the usual sort of place that jumps on any Ark news for easy clicks. And there, in the centre of the page, is the photo of me and Rowan, accompanied by the title,
THE ARK’S JIMMY KAGA-RICCI AND ROWAN OMONDI CAUGHT SLEEPING TOGETHER AT LONDON APARTMENT
‘Well, that’s misleading,’ I say.
‘Quality click bait,’ says Rowan, nodding solemnly.
It’s almost chilling, actually. Where did they get this photo from? How did Lister slip up this time?
‘I can’t believe he did something like this again,’ groans Rowan.
He’s referring, of course, to the fact that Lister is the sole reason I came out publicly as trans when I was sixteen. He tweeted a photo of our open suitcases while we were packing for a tour with a cheerful ‘PACKING FOR TOUR WITH THE BOYS #TheArkEuropeTour’. This included my suitcase, which had my hormone-blocker medication in it, very clearly visible in one of the suitcase compartments. And so the speculation and coming-out pressure began.
I got over it pretty quickly but Rowan barely spoke to Lister for two entire months.
Coming out at sixteen was probably a bit too soon for me – I wasn’t completely sure whether I was ready for everyone in the world to know – but it wasn’t a total disaster. There was hate, obviously, but most of our fans were amazingly supportive and it actually brought in a whole new load of listeners, ones that looked up to me specifically. Which was kind of cool.
Suddenly we weren’t just a teenage boy band playing fun, upbeat tunes. Suddenly we were something a little bit more important than that.
‘Didn’t think he was quite that dumb,’ Rowan continues.
‘Are you talking about me?’
Rowan and I turn to look at Lister, who is leaning over the compartment wall and peering down at us. He has sunglasses on and has his hood up, concealing around eighty per cent of his head.
The smell of alcohol immediately fills the air.
Rowan gives him a look of disdain, and then holds his iPad up in front of Lister’s face. ‘Explain.’
Lister squints at the screen. There’s a pause.
‘Mate, that’s touching,’ he says. ‘Very sweet. Romantic.’ He looks up at the two of us and puts his hand on his heart. ‘I wish you both every happiness.’
Rowan sighs. ‘Come on, man. Why’d you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Send them the picture.’
Lister’s smile drops. ‘I didn’t.’
Rowan groans, throws his hands in the air and turns round. ‘Oh my God, now you’re gonna stand here and deny it for half an hour.’
‘What?’ Lister chuckles nervously, but Rowan just shakes his head and ambles back to his own compartment, which is opposite mine.
Lister takes Rowan’s place and sits down, looking at me. He takes his sunglasses off, revealing eyes with dark circles underneath them. I knew he was drinking too much at the after-party last night and the cocktails he’s had on the plane today probably haven’t been helping.
‘You guys think I took a picture of you two in bed together and then sent it to some gossip blog?’ says Lister. His smile is wobbly.
I stare at him.
‘Jimmy,’ he says. ‘Come on.’
‘Did you, though?’ I ask.
‘No. I swear. I would take a blood oath with one hand on your Bible if you had it with you.’
‘You’re literally the only one who could have taken it.’ I load up the photo on my laptop. ‘Look, we’re in my bedroom. It’s night-time.’
‘It could have been someone at a party—’
‘I wouldn’t be asleep if we had anyone else in our house. Obviously.’
Lister slumps back against the compartment wall. He actually looks a bit annoyed. ‘I can’t believe you think it’s me. I know I’m stupid but I’m not that stupid.’
‘You’ve done stuff like this before. The Twitter suitcases thing.’
I instantly regret mentioning it when Lister looks up at me, hurt.
‘I – that was an accident –’ he stammers. ‘And I’m still really, really, really sorry about that. I swear I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself—’
‘You seriously swear it wasn’t you?’
‘Jimmy, I swear. I think I’d remember sending a photo to a gossip website.’ He shakes his head. ‘That’s such a weird thing to do, why would I do that?’
Okay.
I think I do believe him.
‘Who else could’ve taken it, then?’ I look down at the photo. Whoever took it was literally standing right next to my bed, staring down at us. Lister leans forward and looks at it with me.
‘What if,’ he says, sitting back up and staring at me with wild eyes, ‘someone broke in?’
‘What?’
‘Yeah. It happens all the time to celebrities. Fans break in and just … spy on them. Take photos. Steal a couple of things, maybe. I’ve heard so many horror stories about K-pop band members where they got home and there’d be a fangirl hiding in their wardrobe or they’d wake up in the middle of the night and there’d just be a girl watching them from the other side of the room—’
‘Lister,’ says Rowan sharply without looking towards us, but it’s too late. My palms have started to sweat again. A fangirl, dying to know whether Jowan is real, sneaks into our apartment and hides, waiting for the proof that she desperately wants. And we hand it right to her after falling asleep midway through a Brooklyn Nine-Nine marathon. Next, she installs a camera in our bathroom, films us naked, posts it online. Then there’s a camera in our bedroom, which films us doing other stuff, personal stuff. Then she hides in my wardrobe, ready to step out and stab me in the neck –
> ‘Jimmy,’ says Lister, snapping his fingers in front of my face. ‘You’re spacing out.’
‘What?’
‘It’s not a big deal. You know what? I bet you just fell asleep when we were having a party and forgot about it and someone walked in and thought you looked cute.’
I don’t believe him.
All I can see is some girl waiting to kill me in a wardrobe.
Rowan continues to give Lister the silent treatment for the rest of the flight. He still thinks Lister took the photo.
The shipping itself isn’t a major inconvenience to any of us. If anything, it keeps the fans interested. They think Judgement Day will eventually come and there’ll be a big reveal that Rowan and I are secretly in love.
There won’t. We’re not.
I suppose sometimes it makes me feel a bit awkward. Knowing that a fair percentage of the people who come to meet us or see our concerts have probably read extremely explicit fanfiction about me and my best friend having sex. I got curious once and had a look at some of it, which was a mistake, because it just made me feel really uncomfortable.
But it doesn’t matter. They keep believing and we know the truth and keep on going. Nothing really changes and everyone is happy. So that’s fine.
Lister escaped most of the fanfiction stuff, somehow. He’s always been a bit separate from Rowan and me. Rowan and I are generally considered attractive, by magazines and blogs and stuff, but Lister is so lusted over that he’s been asked to model for Gucci four times. Rowan and I have been friends since we were seven, but we only met Lister when we were thirteen. Rowan and I wanted to start a band, and we forced Lister to be part of it at the last minute because he was the only kid we knew who could play the drums.
It’s always sort of been Rowan and Jimmy, plus Lister.
We still love him of course.
But that’s just the way it is.
When we land at Gatwick and start collecting our stuff together, Lister walks over to Rowan, perching on his table, and says, ‘Come on, Ro, you know I wouldn’t do something like that.’
Rowan shrugs and doesn’t meet Lister’s eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Lister stands up and wraps his arms round Rowan’s chest. ‘Ro Ro. Don’t be angry at me. I’ll do the washing-up for a week.’
Rowan can’t stop himself smiling. ‘There’s a higher chance of The Ark winning Best Country Artist than you doing the washing-up for a single day.’
Lister lets him go and smiles and, for the moment, all seems to be forgiven, but when Lister skips away to his own chair, I watch Rowan’s smile fade away into nothing.
‘And they’re giving you enough to eat?’ asks Dad.
‘No, Dad, they’re refusing to give me any food and I’m having to survive on the packet of crisps you gave me yesterday.’
‘Well, that would make quite an adventure, at least.’
I sigh heavily and lean against the hallway wall, switching my phone to my other hand.
‘You don’t need to worry. I’m having a good time.’
‘I know,’ says Dad. ‘But after that big argument with your mother yesterday … I just wanted to check up on you. And she’s been telling me all about this TV show Clownfish—’
‘I think it’s called Catfish, Dad.’
‘Well, according to your mother, whatever kind of fish it is, it’s one that could kidnap you and sell you into sexual slavery.’
‘Juliet and I have talked to each other on Skype loads before now. She’s very nice and is looking after me perfectly fine and she isn’t a middle-aged man looking to drug and kill me.’
Dad laughs. ‘I’m very glad to hear that.’
‘Is Mum still angry at me?’
‘I think so, yes. She was typing very loudly at her computer this morning.’
We both laugh.
‘I think,’ says Dad, ‘she’s just frustrated because she feels like you’ve been keeping this from her.’
‘I talk about The Ark all the time. I don’t know why this was a surprise.’
‘Fereshteh, it was a little bit of a surprise to me too.’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose … I suppose I never thought you actually cared about this band that much. And to see you just … just start shouting at your mother like that—’
‘She shouted at me too!’
‘I know, I know. But I’ve never seen you so angry, my girl. You’re not a naturally angry person. It was a bit of a shock for everyone.’
There’s a pause. I guess it had been a major argument. One of the worst I’ve had with my parents. I usually get along with my parents really well. I don’t tell them everything about my life, obviously, but I share stuff with them and we have a laugh sometimes.
But the argument yesterday. I can sort of see why Mum and Dad were a bit taken aback.
‘Well, sorry, I guess,’ I say. ‘This is just really important to me.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘I know. But we’re worried it might be too important.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Well … more important than your education.’
‘I told you, that school leavers’ ceremony thing isn’t important—’
‘Not just that. You are growing up now, my girl. You’ll be studying at university, then finding yourself a job, starting a new life. And we just want to make sure … you have that in mind too. Because all you seem to talk about or care about is this boy band.’
‘That’s not all I talk about!’ I say, but now that I think about it, it does seem to come up in conversation quite a lot with my parents. And they listen politely, but they don’t care about The Ark.
‘We’re just concerned, Fereshteh.’
I laugh, not knowing what to say. ‘I’m … I’m just going to a concert.’
Juliet wanders into the hallway, a cup of tea in her hand and her hair pulled back into a loose French plait. She notices the serious expression on my face and mouths, ‘Everything okay?’
I give her a reassuring nod.
‘Fereshteh? Have you gone?’
‘No, I’m here, baba.’
‘Just stay safe. We worry.’
‘I know you do. But I’m not stupid. I won’t do anything stupid, I promise.’
‘You are a smart girl. Smarter than us, probably.’
I smile a little. ‘Nah, you two are the smartest of them all.’
I reassure him again that I’ll be fine and hang up.
‘What was all that about?’ asks Juliet, perching on a radiator and looking up at me.
‘That was my dad. My mum’s still angry.’
Juliet grimaces. ‘Oh.’
I laugh. ‘Don’t worry. Parents, am I right? She’ll chill out when she realises she’s in the wrong.’
Juliet chuckles weakly and looks away. I know she’s had some bust-ups with her parents in the past – they’re both very important lawyers, as are Juliet’s older siblings, but Juliet wants to go to uni to do theatre set design.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Yeah.’ There’s an odd expression on her face, as if this is an awkward thing for us to talk about. Maybe it is. I guess we don’t talk about our families that often.
Mac chooses this moment to thunder downstairs, adjusting his belt. At the sight of Juliet, he immediately starts running his hands through his hair.
‘What are you two talking about?’ he asks. Nosy.
‘You, behind your back,’ says Juliet with a sly smile that is most definitely the Juliet I know.
They start talking and wander off towards the living room. I stay and stare down at my phone, thinking about what Dad was trying to explain about Mum.
Mum doesn’t understand me. She doesn’t understand why I reacted so strongly about a boy band.
And I know they’re both worried about my future. They don’t ever say it, but I know they know I’m average and average is disappointing for them. Especially compared to my brother. The pinnacle of ambition and success.
Don
’t worry. I know that. I’m fully aware I’m average. God, I’m so, so aware I’m average.
But I’m not going to think about any of that right now.
I don’t need to.
This week isn’t about my life.
I don’t have to think about it at all.
This week is about The Ark.
I spend a greater part of the day talking about Jowan. With Juliet, and on the internet.
Tumblr is awash with theories and opinions and discourse. Whether Jowan is real is split approximately fifty-fifty. I suppose Jimmy and Rowan being asleep in the same bed, cuddling, isn’t exactly official proof, but in my eyes it’s close enough. It looks pretty damn romantic to me. I’m an optimist. I like to believe that love exists.
Twitter won’t shut up either. #Jowan has been trending for hours. My whole timeline is flooded with people screaming and crying in caps lock. Neither Jimmy nor Rowan have tweeted about it, but they’ll have to say something soon, won’t they?
I wish I could ask them in real life.
I wish I could see them and tell them everything will be okay and everyone is happy for them.
‘Do you think they’re upset?’ asks Juliet, while we’re both sitting on the same living-room sofa, our laptops open in front of us, Brooklyn Nine-Nine playing on the TV across the room. Mac sits alone on the other sofa, scrolling through his phone.
‘Maybe,’ I say.
‘I feel bad … feeling so happy when they’re probably upset,’ says Juliet.
‘We don’t really know what they think about it yet, though,’ I say, forcing a chuckle, but it’s obvious to both of us I’m just trying to justify our joy at the situation.
Once I’ve read every opinion one could possibly have on the subject, I wrap myself in one of the blankets from last night and reread one of my favourite Jowan fanfics. It starts when Jimmy and Rowan met in primary school, and ends when they’re both twenty-seven, having left The Ark and gone onto solo careers. They fall in and out of love multiple times, always finding their way back to each other.